A Letter in Mourning
by XxBlaiddxX
Summary: Several 'unwritten' scenes from Dance of Death. Mild Pendergast/Constance.
1. A Letter in Mourning

The heavy, cream colored paper trembled in her delicate hands. Her vision swam and blurred as several warm droplets of saltwater dripped onto the letter.

"My dearest Constance," it read. "I am so sorry for the unfortunate situation you must now find yourself in."

Her hands crumpled the sides of the letter, and she gasped in inner pain. This was all wrong. All wrong. The darkness that had been slowly lifting these past months suddenly shrouded her mind again, and she experienced the pain of loss so much more deeply this time.

Aloysius had become so much more to her than her previous guardian ever had been. He'd shown a great tenderness and care that to her memory, had not been shown to her before. In his kindness and generosity he had gently brought her into the present day without forcing or coercion. Everything he had done for her was with the greatest compassion and understanding.

And now he was gone. Gone, and how had she ever survived before, without his guidance?

Proctor, the ever-vigilant sentinel stood in the shadow of the library door, patiently waiting for her to finish with the letter. She could feel his presence, a gentle pressure to compose herself. She took a steadying breath, and with a great effort of will, read Pendergast's final words to her. Quickly reaching the end, she reread it and gently folded the paper back on it's crease, carefully sliding it back into it's envelope.

"Proctor," she said quietly, remaining rooted in her seat, "Please summon the Sergeant. I wish to speak with him about..." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes unfocused ever so slightly.

"Miss?" Proctor asked with some concern.

Constance snapped her mind back into focus and returned her attention to the chauffeur. "Yes. I'm sorry. I need to speak to sergeant D'agosta concerning Aloysius' final wishes. If you would please. It's..." She trailed off once again, her eyes clouding with fresh tears. She choked them back, struggling to regain her proper composure. "It's of the utmost importance. There isn't much time."

Proctor bowed slightly and was gone, leaving the woman to her thoughts. There was nothing more to be done than to wait for the sergeant.


	2. Dawn's Return

Constance gently closed the heavy oaken door of her bedroom. Her heart was heavy and her mind and body were exhausted at the Herculean research venture she'd been tasked to complete. Dawn till dusk she worked tirelessly, only stopping to grab a bite to eat from the pantry- when she remembered to. Proctor would occasionally join her for brief conversation, but she couldn't help but be standoffish and somewhat resentful at his presence. He was there to watch her, she knew, and she despised the fact that she apparently necessitated regular supervision.

She crossed her suite and lay down on the plush mattress, not bothering to light a candle or turn the light switch on. She could navigate the whole building from memory and touch. It had taken a number of months to adjust to the small changes that the remodel had brought about, but other than her guardian's private chambers, all the spaces were once again committed to memory.

She lay there, eyes open and staring into the blackness. This would again be another night that sleep would not come.

The old mansion creaked and groaned, the night wind caressing the sheet metal and ancient boards that kept the windows and doors firmly closed. After a few minutes had passed, she rose and undressed, then slipped underneath the satin sheets, silently begging herself to succumb to the sleep she desperately needed. She slowed her breathing as Aloysious had once taught her, and relaxed into the bed.

The front door. Her eyes flew open, her mind pulled back from the brink of unconsciousness. There had been a noise that her mind could not replay, but was clearly labeled. So soft. That had been the front door; hadn't it? Her heart thundered in her breast as she stared at the ceiling, clarity flooding her brain.

She lay there for what felt like hours, her ears listening for any other out of place sound. Nothing. Her breathing slowed once again, and with it her heart.

And then she heard, inside her very room, the strike of a match.

She sat bolt upright and instantly brought her dagger out of it's hiding place in her headboard, holding it at arms length, pointed at the faint glow that came from the far corner of her bedroom.

"I did not mean to startle you," the soft voice said. "I meant only to be here when you woke."

The blade trembled in her hand, and then dropped with a soft 'thunk' into her down comforter. She pulled the sheet around her exposed chest, and reached out a hand for her dressing gown in the armchair beside her bed. She pulled it on and stepped lightly to the floor, eyes fixed on the seated figure in the corner, the soft flame of a candle throwing wild shadows about his features. "Aloysius?" She asked, her voice wavering

"My dearest Constance," was the reply. "We have much to discuss."


End file.
